


Piece By Piece

by willowed



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Trigger Warning - referenced past self-harming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowed/pseuds/willowed
Summary: Lance finds himself with a growing interest in deciphering the puzzle that is his friend's roommate.





	Piece By Piece

There are moments in Lance’s life where he has to stop and think about how the actual fuck he got to this exact point.

All the possible choices that seem small and inconsequential, but must have mattered somehow in shaping his night to end up right here, at this moment.  
Lance doesn’t too often like to drift into an existential line of thought, but right now he’s still slightly buzzed, and it’s easy to picture the map of his actions, tracing them along paths that resemble branching blood vessels.

This particular moment it had started with a house party. Lance had traced it back, every action and choice that has led him down this path to his current predicament.

It’d been him miraculously managing to get his friend Pidge’s grumpy roommate to tag along with them and introducing said roommate to a network of his other friend’s before leaving him in search of a drink. After that it was a blur of those adorable multi-coloured mini shots, losing himself in blonde hair and painted lips, the steady thrum of the music reverberating the walls and muffling all spoken word.  
It’d been finding Keith, the roommate, swaying dangerously in the kitchen and deciding to round up his friends and call an Uber to head home, rather than coaxing glassfuls of water and leftover party food into the obviously intoxicated guy before attempting any kind of transport home.  
It had been making the executive decision to accompany both Pidge and Keith home, instead of following his own roommate up their front driveway, after pulling over twice to allow Keith to empty his stomach and witnessing Pidge, unable to remember her own address when asked by the driver, giggling helplessly at her own glasses to the background noise of Keith’s thick retching.  
It’d then been helping Pidge directly into her own bed, fervently mumbling about her desire to not view a penis tonight, after Lance had taken one look at Keith leaning heavily on the doorframe, the front of his jumper slick with vomit and voicing that he may need a shower.

Now he’s here.

In Pidge and Keith’s shared tiny apartment bathroom, with a deeply intoxicated Keith finding support on his arm.  
Keith’s eyes are heavy, half-lidded, his head seems too loose on his neck like it could loll back any second into unconsciousness.

“Uh-uh, c’mon. You need a shower, man. You reek”, Lance reiterates, wrapping an arm around Keith’s slim waist and moving him to sit upon the closed lid of the toilet.

With Hunk probably sleeping soundly and still too intoxicated to drive and with Pidge’s blatant refusals ringing in his mind, he steels himself and begins to gently fold up the bottom of Keith’s spoilt hoodie. It comes off easily enough, with the steady slow rhythm of Lance’s rolling and Lance is about to mentally congratulate himself until he sees that he’s somehow managed to smudge Keith’s upchuck onto the left side of his face and partially into his hair.

“Shit.”

 _At least it can be washed off in the shower_ , Lance thinks as he balls up the hoodie and throws it into the opposite corner of the bathroom, hands already back to working on taking off Keith’s shirt and using it to start wiping the majority of the sick off his face. _Still disgusting, though_.

Standing Keith up, he realizes in their close proximity that he’s half a head taller than Keith, possibly more. It makes handling him a little easier, combined with the fact that he isn’t really a large guy, slim shoulders tapering into an even slimmer waist.  
Lance briefly eyes the subtle curves of Keith’s body, the slight rise and fall of potential abs hidden beneath a soft layer of belly fat, the lithe muscles of his biceps. His hipbones jut out dangerously, creating a hollow, which is emphasized by the strict waistband of his pants.  
He sits Keith down on the edge of the bath and, whilst keeping a hand on Keith’s shoulder to keep him steady, begins to turn the water on, attempting to find the appropriate lukewarm balance.

He never intended to take Keith’s underwear off, meaning to let Keith keep whatever shred of pride he might still retain, but he realizes that it’s probably for the best as they’re coming down clumsily with Keith’s tight pants. Keith won’t appreciate waking up in damp underwear anyway, he’s pretty sure.  
Keith is fully naked now and as Lance helps him stand back up and steers his shaky legs into the bathtub and towards the shower end he tries his best not to allow his gaze to wander between Keith’s legs to check if the nasty stigma of Asian men having small dicks is true.  
Gently, he helps Keith under the warm spray of water, realizing too late that he’s left his own sweater on and the sleeves are already getting soaked.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks as he momentarily allows Keith to stand unsteadily on his own and quickly strips himself of his now damp sweater and undershirt.

He steps more fully into the shower, sliding the shower curtain over to guard the floor and grabs the nearest bottle of shower gel. He notes the rich honey scent as it’s popped open and immediately recognizes it as one of the products from his work that he’d gifted Keith with for his birthday a few weeks ago. He had laughed loudly at Keith’s scowl as he’d made subtle hints about Keith’s poor hygiene skills. Lance notices with pride that it’s more than halfway to empty, pouring some liberally onto his hands before beginning to smooth it onto Keith’s shoulder, Keith’s chest… Keith’s stomach…

Whilst he had previously entertained the idea of sleeping with Keith, once or twice in the deepest privacy of his own thoughts after inebriating his brain with a drink of two, there was no way he was going to let those slight desires for an admittedly attractive, warm body come to fruition tonight. Not while the other participant had glassy eyes and seemed to have little recognition of where they were and what was happening.  
He squashes down the slight curl of desire deep in his stomach and focuses on continuing to lather smooth circles of gel onto Keith’s chest and belly. Keith seems to enjoy this, humming in appreciation, the noise in his chest sounding almost like a light purr.  
Seeing Keith this calm and affectionate up close… is really not what Lance was ever expecting. He seems to relish in Lance’s touches, a small smile curving his lips as Lance is running his soapy hands up and down Keith’s sides.

Keith has been a generally grumpy person since they first met, quiet, intensely focused and reserved, opting for his own company as opposed to joining Pidge, Hunk and Lance as they marathon movies or play endless rounds of Mario Kart, despite their constant invitations. He shies from hugs and seems to resent crude, loud humour.

Lance has struggled to understand him from the beginning.

He doesn’t mind drunk Keith so much though. He’s heard Keith laugh more times tonight collectively than he has in their entire friendship. Stripped of his rigid layers of prickliness, Keith is rather funny and insightful and surprisingly warm. And now he’s on the receiving end of Keith leaning into his offered affections, chasing Lance’s touch.  
He’s never been this close to Keith either, before tonight, never been given the chance. With Keith’s long hair rinsed and slicked back from his face Lance can fully appreciate the scattering of moles decorating it, the slight raise of a scar above his eyebrow that he runs a finger over as he washes Keith’s face. There’s a soft smile still in place on Keith’s face and his eyes, still slightly glassy and unfocused, have begun to droop into the edges of sleep. But fuck, Keith is gorgeous. He’s as pretty up close as Lance has thought him to be, dark wet hair plastered to his shoulders and framing his heart shaped face.

It’s not too hard to help Keith out of the shower, and Lance relishes how broad his shoulders are in comparison to Keith’s as he’s wrapping his arms around the smaller man to secure the towel around his middle.  
In the process, Keith’s face has become intimately close with his own. The soft smile is gone now replaced with a wrinkled nose and thick brows furrowed in confusion.

“Ah, Lance, why – wha – why do you smell so bad?”  
  
“You! You’re the one that vomited everywhere!” Lance splutters indignantly. “Your breath is horrendous right now, my dude.”

Keith pouts in confusion, looking down at his own half-naked self and seemingly attempting to process the information that has just been supplied to him.  
Lance steps away.

“Right. Right, okay. What next? Clothes? Clothes.”

He guides a stumbling, slightly dripping Keith down the hallway to his room and moves him to sit on the bed. Lance starts opening random drawers in Keith’s closet until he’s accumulated some socks, boxers and an old soft band shirt littered with small holes. _That’ll do._  
With Keith refusing to let Lance dress him, protesting that he’s “not a baby”, Lance occupies himself with observing Keith’s room, ignoring the sounds of Keith struggling into his pajamas.  
He’s never been allowed in here before, he supposes because he’s not actually a close friend to Keith. It’s sparse and minimal, the only thing Keith seems to own in excess is books. The bookshelf is overflowing, it seemed as though when Keith had run out of room to file books traditionally they were stacked and stuffed into every available space that the shelves had to offer. There was also stacked piles surrounding the shelves themselves, as well as the bed and built-in wardrobe.  
Lance takes a moment to move closer to the handful of photographs that Keith has on display, a striking contrast to his own home which is littered with dozens of photographs and polaroid’s. He’s about to take a closer look when there’s the pointed sound of something falling behind him.

Turning around, he laughs at the sight of Keith half-dressed on the floor, before helping him up and into his socks and shirt. He’s easing a now sleepy and pliant Keith into bed, Keith sighing happily and snuggling into the comfort of the covers. It’s adorable.

Lance leaves and comes back with some essentials, placing a large bowl on the floor near the bed and some painkillers and water on the small pile of books on the bedside table.  
Turning the lights off leaves him only able to vaguely make out the form of Keith, snuggled up and currently curled around a pillow, his breathing even and deep.

The words stop him at the doorway.

“You’re not staying?”

The question comes out so soft, so unsure, so unlike anything he’s ever known Keith to be.

“Not tonight. Drink that water and go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, Keifer.”  
  
And with that he’s turning away and closing the door, moving into their lounge room, curling up on the comfiest couch and allowing his body to slip into the blissful realm of sleep where he can ignore the tight feeling growing in his chest.

 

\--- 

 

Finding food with any semblance of normality is not usually an easy task in Pidge and Keith’s apartment.

Scouring the fridge for milk, he can only seem to see a tall carton of soy milk, and a smaller similar one of… almond? Frowning, Lance calls out absentmindedly to Pidge whilst reading the back of one of the cartons because his curiosity is piqued at the prospect of how milk can be made from a nut.

“Hey Piglet, do you guys have like… any kind of regular milk here? I’d even settle for skim.”

He can hear the shuffling of papers and the dull ‘thunk’ of Pidge rearranging something in the adjoining room that houses the lounge suite and dining table.  
It’s actually less of a dining table and lounge suite than a glorified circular table surrounded by mismatched chairs, crammed into the corner of the room to make way for their lumpy, secondhand couch and armchairs. These too, are mismatched, and are positioned around the television, which is actually one of the rare items within the apartment that isn’t thrifted or secondhand. This is probably due to the fact that anything even remotely involving technology is top of the line, thanks to Pidge and Hunk’s limitless knowledge and creativity when it comes to acquiring and modifying technological items.  
Lance can hear Pidge making her way into the kitchen, her socks making shuffling noises on the tiles and he hums as he pushes aside Tupperware containers to peer into one of the back shelves of the fridge.

“No,” scoffs Pidge from somewhere near the sink. “You know we never have the _regular stuff_ unless you or Hunk bring it over. And as if we’d call anything you’d willingly consume ‘regular’.”

“Ack, why not? I didn’t think Keith was vegan.” Lance states smoothly, ignoring Pidge’s obvious attempts to provoke him.

“He’s not”, Pidge answers gruffly as she sticks an arm into the fridge around Lance’s waist, procuring the taller carton of milk and pushing it into his hands. “He’s lactose intolerant. Just use the soy, it’s not bad.”

“Soy is terrib—wait what? He’s what?”

Pidge sighs, and speaks her next words like she’s addressing a petulant child.  
“He’s lactose-intolerant. Like, cannot consume any form of dairy. And it’s not terrible, asshole. It’s an acquired taste.”

Lance watches as Pidge retakes the soy milk from him, and pours a liberal amount in his waiting coffee mug. He grumbles under his breath at what he knows will be a terrible coffee that will most likely be poured down the sink and promptly sends a sneaky text to Hunk to bring back some milk from the store, which is where Hunk and Keith disappeared to for more study snacks.  
Pidge has been toeing the line of veganism for the past few months now, after six years of rigid vegetarianism and regular viewings of documentaries on the food industry. Lance always assumed that Keith was too, on some level. Their apartment was always lacking in milk and cheese of the regular variety and now he suddenly understands Keith’s constant and often blunt refusals to try Hunk’s homemade ice-cream or his famous extra cheesy nachos.  
In the months after Keith moved into Pidge’s apartment and by extension their lives, he’d just assumed this was Keith perpetuating his personality stereotype as an antisocial asshole but now he’s once again been given a small new piece of Keith to add to the growing puzzle in his mind, turning and trying to piece the other boy together.

There’s one prominent question overtaking his thoughts at the moment.

“Why didn’t he tell us?”

“He told me,” Pidge snorts. She’s still stirring his ruined coffee. “And please don’t ask me to attempt to understand the mysteries of how Keith’s mind works. I’m pretty sure he’s embarrassed about it, and I literally have not a single fucking clue why.”

“He’s embarrassed?” Lance echoes. “What’s embarrassing about an allergy? I mean, unless he’s embarrassed about not being able to enjoy ice-cream or soft cheese or mozzarella melted on a thick crust pizza… damn, that’s actually pretty shit.”

 “Hey, I don’t enjoy any of those things!”

They’re wandering back to the mess of a table now, Lance’s coffee in hand, turning on the lights to combat the fading sky outside and in turn illuminating the massive piles of books and notes covering the table.

“Yeah but,” Lance takes a sip of his coffee before attempting to locate a clean space of table to place it. He settles for placing it on some of his marine bioscience notes because they’re messy and need to be rewritten anyway, grimacing as the taste of the soy registers on his tongue. “Ew, okay, this is gross first of all. And yeah, you don’t enjoy those things but that’s a choice on your part. Our small friend Keith cannot naturally enjoy these things. His body has betrayed him, it’s a gastronomical travesty.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow and motions for Lance to hand over his coffee.  
“Okay, yeah fair point. I don’t know if he’s ever had any of them though, so it’s not like he knows what he’s missing out on… Lance this is delicious I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Lance is in the process of making a particularly rude hand gesture directed at Pidge as she’s poking her tongue out at him when there are footsteps and a key in the front door and the form of Hunk in the doorway.

“Seriously you guys? We leave you alone for ten minutes and you can’t play nice.”

Hunk’s smile overrides any traces of disappointment within his voice, as he moves around to the kitchen and places two large bags of groceries onto the bench top. There’s a small snort of laughter from the doorway, Lance’s eyes trace the figure of Keith smirking to himself, hunched over and removing his combat boots. His hair is looking even more windswept and tangled than usual, falling over one shoulder, and Lance can’t help but notice the unusual contrast of his bright green and blue alien socks to the rest of his all black outfit. It’s cute.

“Did you get some normal milk? Stuff that doesn’t taste like bean and ass?” Lance watches Keith struggle with his laces for a few seconds more before turning more fully to Hunk, who’s nodding. He chooses to focus on Hunk’s gentle admonishments and gets up to make himself a fresh coffee, ignoring the chorus of ‘fuck you’ coming from behind him.

Hunk is already in the process of making both himself and Lance fresh coffee, as Keith settles himself at their study table with a can of some kind of carbonated caffeine and a thick novel. Lance takes one sip of his new coffee, oh god Hunk has added some form of toffee or caramel flavouring and it is perfection, and proceeds to wrap an arm around Hunk’s shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his temple as a thank you. He can feel eyes ghosting his movements, as his next kiss is more of a playful smacking of his lips on Hunk’s cheek followed by a cheerful and loud “thank you my bestest buddy love.”  
He heads back to buckle back down into their study session once more, meeting Keith’s eyes briefly as he’s sitting down. Only for Keith to flush lightly and quickly stare back down at his book.

Their friendship has taken an odd turn since the night of, what Lance likes to refer to in his mind as, ‘the shower incident’.

Keith apparently had little to no recollection of the events of the night and had immediately proceeded to grab his running shoes, a deep blush high on his cheeks and slip out of the apartment upon being provided with a play-by-play of most of the night by Pidge. Or what she could recall at least, which unfortunately for Keith’s pride involved the ‘Lance helping a fully naked Keith to shower’ part.  
Even before that evening, Lance had often noticed how Keith would quietly watch his interactions with others, a strange look in his eyes that Lance has never been able to place. He’d always shied from Lance’s extravagant affections when they were offered, skittering like a frightened rabbit when arms are thrown out wide. Lance is no stranger to physical affection, often wrapping acquaintances up in strong hugs and pressing firm kisses and touches to his closer friends. Lance was always left to assume that Keith just hated being close to people, being touched. He knows better now.

Now the touches are still offered, but they’re smaller, softer, gentler, set at a pace especially for Keith and only Keith.

Lance can’t help the flutter in his chest when they’re accepted.

So, Lance seats himself at their study table and lays a gentle touch on the soft muscle above Keith’s elbow, squeezing briefly and watches as Keith meets his gaze and returns the small smile that he’s offering. Lance continues to watch as Keith returns to his novel, messy hair tucked behind one ear and the smile still shadowing his lips.

After obnoxiously stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles, much to Pidge’s chagrin, he starts to revise his notes, concentrating on ignoring the boy next to him.

 

 ---

 

The air is thick with the scent of booze, sweat and dozens of mingling perfumes.

It’s what is probably the last party of the semester, before everyone heads home for Christmas break and with all their final assessments handed in and exams taken the alcohol is flowing and inhibitions are abandoned.

Lance’s head is buzzing with the handful of drinks he’s already consumed and he can still faintly taste the lip stain of the last girl he managed to steal a kiss from in the dark hallway.  
He’s in the kitchen gulping down a glass of water to clear some of the fuzziness from his mind when he realizes that whilst he’s recently seen Pidge talking with some classmates and Hunk happily dancing with a girl from their astronomy course that he’s been gushing about for the past few weeks, he hasn’t actually seen Keith for quite some time.  
This isn’t a particularly an uncommon occurrence, as Keith is the most antisocial and awkward person that Lance has ever met and more often than not he’ll take himself away from the crowds to be alone. This is a mystery in itself to Lance, as he has always thrived on the company of others, has always hated long stretches of time by himself. Keith seems to relish it.  
Lance discovers that his assumptions are correct when, upon searching the home, he finds Keith sitting on a small balcony adjoining one of the bedrooms, legs dangling off the edge and head pointed towards the sky.

Lance watches him for a moment, the way that Keith’s fingers are gently tapping a rhythm on the concrete and how he seems to be searching for something in the stars, if the slow sweeping movements of his head are anything to go by.

He opens the door and steps out, not too quietly so as to alert Keith of his presence. Keith’s head whips around, eyes narrowed, body tense until he sees who it is closing the door behind them and he instantly relaxes, watching Lance for a moment longer before returning his gaze to the stars.  
It’s quieter out here, the air is fresh and slightly chilly tonight, and the loud music and lights from the party indoors seem muffled and distant.

Lance mimics Keith’s positioning, adjusting his long legs comfortably over the edge.

“You know, you’re missing a great party in there my friend.”

“Not really in a party mood,” Keith replies tersely.

Lance snorts. “Are you ever?”

There’s a stretch of silence, wherein Lance’s mind is running a mile a minute, worried that he’s obviously offended Keith with the lack of filter between his brain and his mouth.  
But Keith answers, so softly that he almost misses it.

“No. Not really.”

He seems more on edge than usual, but Lance knows better than to push. Keith is like the wild possums or birds that his family sometimes feeds back home. They’ll come to you, but only when they want to, when it feels safe.  
He amuses himself within the next bout of silence by watching the stars, mapping out the constellations visible between the clouds and spotting the faint red twinkle that could be Mars. Keith’s next words break through his concentration.

“I saw you making out with Samantha.”

His voice is still soft.

If it were Hunk, or Pidge, or one of his other numerous friends he’d instantly boast that he’s also managed to snag kisses from Ashleigh who’s in his Monday math lecture, Isaac from the soccer team and some other girl whose name, he’s pretty sure, is Rachel. This would usually be accompanied with some teasing waggling of his brows.  
But this is Keith. And whilst he doesn’t sound exceptionally sad with this statement, he sounds a little disappointed. Plus, he’s not the type that has ever enjoyed hearing about Lance’s dates or hook ups. Maybe he’s jealous. Keith doesn’t seem like the type to be into casual hookups, but he’s managed to surprise Lance with growing facets to his personality over the past few weeks. Perhaps this Keith-ish mood has been brought on by a possible inability to find someone cute to tangle himself up with.  
_Well,_ thinks Lance. _Worth a shot._

“You know, there were some really hot guys in the kitchen just before I came up here that I know from my astronomy course. I could introduce you…?”

Keith seems to startle at this, peering sidelong at Lance. He seems even more uncomfortable now, his body tense.  _Shit, wrong._

“Sorry, sorry,” Lance is quick to cover up, waving his hands wildly. “I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine.” Keith interrupts. He’s flushed now, averting his gaze to his fingers resting on the ground. At least he’s a little more relaxed after Lance’s hurried apology. “I just didn’t know you knew. About my… preferences, s’all.”

“I assumed. I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool.”

Keith shakes his head chuckling quietly.

“No, it’s okay,” he says. His voice is less soft now. He grins, directly at Lance. “I forget how open and accepting you are sometimes. It’s actually kinda nice to not have someone just assume I’m straight.”

This takes Lance by surprise but he finds himself smiling back, it comes easily upon noticing Keith’s slightly crooked teeth and small dimples.

Keith’s smile is softening as his eyes search Lance’s face and Lance is starting to feel a familiar gentle flutter in his chest pick up speed. He’s just starting to think about how pretty Keith looks right now and how much he’s had to drink and how unacceptable it would be to add Keith’s name to the list of people that he’s kissed tonight when his thoughts are interrupted by the chime of a phone sitting between them.  
Before he can help himself, Lance glances down to read the message and then sheepishly realizes it’s not his own phone.

**Shiro: Well, take care of yourself then. Don’t drink too much. Text me when you’re home safe. xx**

Keith lets out a little huff of laughter before unlocking his phone and typing a quick reply, phone angled slightly away.  
  
"Big brother is a bit protective, hey?” Lance asks, as Keith is locking the phone and placing it face down on the ground. Lance takes note of the lack of a case, which probably explains the shattered cracks running over the screen.  
It’s not the first time he’s noticed this about Keith’s brother. Shiro is also friends with Pidge’s older brother, an interesting fact that caused a lot of excitement and commotion within their group when it was first discovered.  
Pidge and Keith have both made little comments and complaints about Shiro telling them to drink less caffeine, for Pidge to get more sleep and the most constant one: for Keith to always wear his helmet when riding his motorbike. Keith rolls his eyes when he receives these messages via text or reprimands over the phone, but there’s a thick layer of fondness to it. He obviously cares a lot for his brother.  
It’s nice to see Keith being openly affectionate towards someone, even if it’s mostly through Keith’s own personal brand of huffiness and sarcasm.

“Yeah,” Keith says gently. “He… we’ve only got each other. It’s… hard for him sometimes.”

It sounds like he wants to say more, the unsaid words forming somewhere in the silence stretching between them.

Lance steals another glance over at the other boy. His legs are still swinging, his eyes watching the horizon. He’s never had Keith open up to him like this before. Maybe Keith’s had more to drink than he previously thought.  
He holds himself still, watching the twinkling lights of suburbia stretching outwards, so scared that any possible movement or words will break the moment and scare Keith away.  
It’s not long before Keith is speaking again.

“Before… before me, Shiro was an only child. I was thirteen when the Shirogane’s adopted me. He welcomed me with open arms and so much love. He’s just that kind of guy, with everyone. He gives so much, and never expects anything back. I’m still surprised we get along sometimes, such opposites.”

He sighs, gaze shifting upwards.

“But then there was the crash. I was only fifteen. Shiro had so much placed on him then. There was the physical therapy for his arm, the funerals to organize and me… there was me to take care of. He was twenty-one. But he did it. He went through all the necessary legal bullshit to be my guardian and he’s been looking out for me ever since.”

The flutter in Lance’s chest has given way to a sharp ache.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the lights below, struggling to comprehend the immense feelings welling up inside him that accompany the information he’s just been given.

“I’m glad he has Allura now though,” Keith continues, a happier lilt in his voice. “She’s really amazing, and makes him so happy. He’s spending New Years this year with her family in England. I haven’t seen him this excited and nervous in awhile.”

Lance swallows and can’t think to say much else besides asking, “Are you going too?”

Keith shakes his head with a fond smile.

“Nah, we’ll be together for Christmas but I’ll just be back at the apartment afterwards.”

The comfortable silence is back between them again.

Keith is still searching the stars, Lance watching his face carefully. His first obvious reaction is to hug Keith, reach out to him with pity and comfort. Keith’s face is peaceful and unfazed though, and Lance does know him better now.  
Instead he thinks of his own home for New Years, how his younger relatives slip into the pool whilst the fireworks are being set off, the large traditional barbeque of seafood accompanied with glasses of sangria filled with summer fruits and his mother’s tight hugs that are bestowed endlessly upon himself, his siblings and their partners and he finds himself asking Keith if he’d like to join his family that year, at their home, for the New Year’s celebrations.  
He watches Keith turn his head to look at him, that familiar shade of pink creeping onto his cheeks, his eyes soft. He watches Lance for a moment longer, contemplating before answering.

“Okay,” he breathes. “I think… I think I’d like that.”

Lance answers with a smile.  
  
The music is still pumping inside, louder now, permeating their quiet oasis with the persistent fast-paced beat, vibrating the ground they sit on.  
Keith checks the time on his phone before stretching his legs out in front of him and muttering something about going back to join the masses.  
The blush still sits on his cheeks and Lance wonders if that’s due to the large amount of personal information that he’s just shared or the invitation to his home. Probably both.

Lance stays seated, stare fixed back at the sky, listening to the rustle of Keith standing up and giving him the space that Keith constantly seems to desire. He’s expecting for the next noise he hears to be Keith opening the door and returning indoors but it’s the rustle of his clothes, closer now. Then warm breath near his temple followed by soft lips pressed to his hairline, barely there. They’re gone within a fraction of a second.  
Before he can begin to comprehend the past few seconds, the door is opening, closing, and he is alone.

Lance stays and watches the stars for a while longer.

 

 ---

 

The car had always been a safe space.

It’s where Lance started receiving his sexual education, where he first came out to his older sister and now it’s where it feels right to open up to his best friend about the thoughts plaguing his mind for weeks.

“Keith kissed me.”

“Oh wow… yeah. Okay.”

Hunk’s reply sounds guarded, careful, not at all what Lance was expecting from his usually exuberant friend. He looks up from his phone to find Hunk stealing glances at him, looking uncertain. There’s a heavy pause before he continues.

“Are you... are you happy about this? You don’t sound happy about this. I mean, you don’t sound particularly upset but-“

“No. I’m not- I don’t think I’m upset.” Lance weighs his words carefully. “It wasn’t a proper kiss. Just on the head, the temple.”

Lance leans over and pokes Hunk gently with the pad of his index finger, relishing the gentle pressure as if proving a point. Hunk makes a small ‘ah’ sound.

“I invited him to my house Hunk, my _home_. He’s gonna be there in like, two weeks and a bit. And I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel.”

Lance sighs heavily, finishing his admission with an exaggerated slump of his body on the seat. It’s suddenly nowhere near as comfortable, shoulders hiked up around his ears, one arm thrown over his face and lower back almost spasming, but he holds it, if only to maintain his melodramatic integrity.

After a few beats of silence, Lance peeks out from under his arm to find his friend with furrowed brows and pursed lips, eyes fixed firmly on the freeway.  
They’ve been traveling to their childhood town for close to two hours now, car piled to the roof with suitcases and various bundles of pillows and linen, the backseat floor littered with fast food wrappers from their midway junk food checkpoint.  
Hunk’s silence is not at all what Lance was expecting. Usually he’s quick to offer his honest thoughts to any scenarios placed in front of him, with a huge tendency for rambling off on a tangent before sharply being brought back to the matter at hand. Silence is not what Lance needs or wants right now. He’d even settle for the typical long-winded affectionate chiding from his best friend, anything to help him deal with his frazzled thoughts.  
His current main consolation is that it’s less than an hour before he is reunited with his childhood home; the smell of the ocean right outside his bedroom window, the prospect of hours spent in the waves on his board with his siblings and the best hugs of his life found in his mum’s arms.

“Okay, so… he kissed you,” Hunk’s voice breaks through Lance’s reminiscing, still sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “But not on the lips. On the head. Which is fine, dude, we do that to each other all the time.”

“Yeah but, it’s _Keith_.”

“That might be him trying to be affectionate? I mean, showing it how we usually do. Keith’s always been a bit… odd in that way. He might be finally opening up to us a little, he did offer me a hug before we left.”

Hunk sounds quite pleased about this. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been able to give Keith hugs in the duration of their friendship. It’s a rarity but not unheard of.  
What is rare is Keith offering the hugs.

Lance groans loudly and slumps even further down into his seat. This is what has been eating away at him for the past few weeks, since the kiss, since the shower incident even. It’s like a wall within Keith has broken down, affection slowly trickling through in increments, with most tokens of it being directed toward Lance.  
Keith allowing their knees to gently touch during their outdoor picnic study sessions, bumping Lance lightly with his hip as they’re walking after Lance has cracked a particularly bad pun, sitting close enough to Lance at movie night to warrant their sides pressed flush together. It’s not like Lance isn’t enjoying it per se. He’s used to this behavior from good friends but from Keith it’s… different.  
Keith’s affection causes the flutter in his chest and sharp twist in his stomach. He still feels unsure, heavy swirls of doubt threatening to cloud his tentative happiness, overcome the warmth in his body. He knows what these feelings are usually indicative of.

“Hunk, what if I like him?”

It’s admitted softly whilst staring at the glimpses of the ocean passing by, now present between the trees, a stretch of flat blue.

“Dude, that’s awesome. Keith’s a really nice guy. Shit, I called him odd before, didn’t I? Shit. Sorry. Well, he is odd there’s no denying that… also attractive, though. You guys would make such a cute couple, I swear. Like, speaking as your best friend and a completely objective third party person, I can confirm that you’re attractive and he’s attractive. You know who is really attractive though? His brother. I mean, damn. Do you think Shiro has modeled? No-one, and I mean _no-one_ could deny that man’s attr—“

“Hunk.”

“Right, right. Sorry. You are still looking kind of freaked out about this, are you worried what your folks might think?”

Lance immediately shakes his head. His parents have had an inkling for his sexuality ever since he came home from school his first day of grade five, proudly announcing that he was going to marry the red headed boy he sits next to in class. They’ve always loved and openly accepted him and whomever he brought home to meet them.

“Okay,” Hunk continues. “Is it… are you worried he might not like you back?”

At this, Lance hesitates.

Sure, he’s pretty clued into people and can usually tell when someone is potentially reciprocating his feelings but with Keith… it’s always been hard to tell.  
Despite all his gentle affections, smiles that come easier now and that familiar pink dusting his cheeks at many of their interactions, there are still moments where Lance finds himself struggling to decipher the boy.

The puzzle turns and twists in his head, like a Rubik’s Cube. The sides aren’t matching up despite the constant fight to have it work as a coherent whole.

He’s used to people folding easily into his teases, dissolving into a mess of giggles and reciprocated flirting if they’re interested. If Keith does have any sort of romantic inclination towards him, he has a weird way of showing it. When he’s not dishing out helpings of soft touches and smiles, he’s blunt and often brutal, sending pointed scowls and snarky comments that leave Lance reeling and sparking some sort of bickering match that more often than not ends with Hunk hoisting one of them over his shoulder and physically separating them.  
There are times when Keith seems desperate to avoid him, firmly refusing the groups invitations for a dinner out together in favor of a night curled up on the couch with one of his books or at the gym.

Typically Lance would have asked his person of choice on a proper date by now, or at least performed some huge romantic gesture but with Keith… there’s the growing doubt, feeding his constant underlying insecurities.

“Maybe,” he replies slowly, rolling his tongue along the roof of his mouth, considering his next words. “I just- we’re fighting half the time we’re together. He’s grumpy and rude and hates anything with more than four people present. How am I supposed to spend my time with someone like that? I’ve never dated anyone this antisocial and… different.”

Hunk sends him a pointed look, “You cause the fights more than half the time, Lance. And besides, Shay and I have our share of arguments, I mean, nowhere near as often. But I guess teasing and stuff is totally normal?”  
  
“I don’t recall Shay ever telling you to fuck off.”

Hunk gives him another side eye.

“You literally make fun of him at every opportunity. If it’s not his clothes or hygiene it’s the hair. I’m pretty sure he’s at the end of his tether with the ‘achy breaky heart’ comments.”

Keith didn’t actually have a mullet. Maybe when they’d first met, but it’s grown since into soft, perpetually messy waves that fall just below his collarbones and usually hang over his face in some way. Lance had called it a mullet once, and sparked such a fantastic response from the usually stoic boy that, like a dog with a chew toy, he just could not let it go.  
Besides, Keith is kind of fun to mess with. Spending more time with him has brought a surprising amount of dry humour and quick wit to their group, he’s always able to match Lance in insults and intellect. Well, mostly. Keith was adorably clueless when it came to anything related to popular culture and his blatant ignorance could never go unnoticed.  
One of Lance’s fondest memories is their whirlwind wizarding movie marathon; Hunk setting up snacks in a matter of minutes and Pidge and Lance immediately dismantling the Monopoly game in favor of setting up an appropriate nest of pillows and blankets after Keith had shocked the gang with the question “what’s a Voldemort?”

“Yeah, but his reactions are priceless! He’s like a grumpy little hedgehog.”

Another pause.

“I just…” Lance sighs. “I just don’t see how it could work. Like, yeah I guess he’s funny and we have fun and it makes me kinda happy but ultimately I… I need someone more like me. Someone who’s open and, and… I don’t know, not socially awkward.”

“Nyma broke your heart, dude.”

It’s a slash to the safety of the conversation. Immediately he feels it in his chest, the ice-cold pain flaring bright and sudden. He tries to hide it, squash it back, because no matter how long it’s been of course it still _hurts_ to some degree and he doesn’t need Hunk to know how much those words have affected him. But Hunk knows him the best and is immediate in his resolve.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck, I didn’t mean it like…”

Hunk’s large, warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“I want you to be happy, dude. So damn happy. Nyma wasn’t the one for you, and maybe her type isn’t. Don’t stress about the logistics of it all, don’t think on it. Just… just enjoy your time with him and take things naturally and… just trust yourself, okay? Keith’s a nice guy and I’m always a phone call away if you need anything.”

Lance smiles thinly at Hunk, ignoring the burning of tears building in his eyes as he returns to scanning the glimpses of the sea. The hand returns to the wheel.

“I know you have a tendency to, but don’t overthink it too much buddy.”

 

 ---

 

True to Hunk’s words of wisdom, Lance tried his best not to overthink anything.

He’d spent the first two weeks of his holiday at home enjoying time with his siblings and his dogs, relishing in regular access to a bathtub as much as humanly possible, savouring his family being under the same roof and spending as much time as he could with the people he loved the most.  
Keith had arrived less than a week later, and they’d spent majority of their time with almost no romantic inclinations influencing their time together.  
He’d appeared unusually nervous, a single duffel bag slung over one shoulder as Lance pulled up to pick him up from the local train station. He’d proceeded to fiddle with his knife the entire car ride home; Lance kept catching the sunlight glinting off its revolving blades out of the corner of his eye.  
Keith only brought out that damn knife when he was nervous. He was not, by nature, a fiddler. If you were lucky enough to catch him playing with it, the knife’s movements were entrancing as Keith’s fingers effortlessly rotated the blades over his knuckles and palms. Lance was scared to even attempt to hold the damn thing.

Keith had been introduced to his family, who’d taken an instant liking to him, and slowly but surely Keith had become more at ease within Lance’s home.  
Lance had shown Keith his favourite secluded beaches, how to catch leatherjackets off the pier near his home, where the best pizza in town was, and the basics of riding a longboard, his hands firmly holding Keith’s own as Keith wobbled precariously atop the board going at a snail’s pace down the inclined road.  
New Year’s Eve had been a fun affair, he and Keith had both opted for a minimal amount of alcohol, tempering their spiced ciders with leftover Christmas pudding and watching various members of Lance’s extended family make drunken spectacles of themselves. Then, they’d sat pressed together, thigh to thigh, feet sloshing lazily in the pool whilst the fireworks overhead signaled the official arrival of the new year and painted their faces in flashing hues of green, gold, blue and red.

And they’re already due to head back tomorrow.

With his thoughts drifting from the fresh memories of the summer to the possibilities of the day ahead, Lance opens his eyes to savour his second last morning in his childhood bedroom. The breeze drifts in lazily through the window that is always left open overnight, spreading a cool freshness throughout the room accompanied by the slight taste of salt.  
Sitting up and stretching, Lance peers out the window to observe the sun. _Oh._ Not morning or sunrise, as his set alarm had originally planned, but somewhere in the mid-afternoon, the sun setting lazily on the other side of the house, beyond his eyesight, and just beginning to tinge the edges of the horizon with soft oranges and pinks.

From his window he has a slight view downwards over the garden, the main part beneath covered by their back porch and the rest obscured slightly with large, overlapping trees.  
He spots Keith in the back corner of their garden, arms stretched above his head to a point as he balances on one leg, the dull red matt he’s standing on a striking contrast to the surrounding green foliage.  
Lance allows himself a few moments of watching him fold and twist gracefully into the next pose.

 Watching him move through a procession of elegant yoga poses should be a jarring juxtaposition to the brash, impatient guy that Lance met over six months ago, and yet, now it’s not.  
He’d always pegged them as polar opposites, so different that any friendship or hypothetical relationship would never work. He’s recognized his own walls slipping at the same time as Keith’s, matching a gentle pace, and finding himself exposing the raw vulnerable sides of himself to Keith, a mere few weeks after Keith had done the same.

“Does it still hurt?” Keith had asked, gently running fingers over the crisscross of silver scars on Lance’s upper thighs, tentative and caring.

“Not anymore, I haven’t done it in awhile.”

Keith had met his eyes then, gaze firm and dark, seeing Lance as a whole and not stuttering or shying away like so many others had done in the past, unsure of what to say, how to reassure. His eyes had searched Lance’s face in the dimming glow of the sunset, as the sand grew slightly cold beneath them.

“Don’t do it ever again, please.”

“Okay,” Lance had breathed.

They’d returned home, chasing the last rays of sunlight up the track and Lance, lightening the mood, had announced a race home and had won through the slightly unfair advantage of pushing Keith into a passing bush.

He’s found himself enjoying Keith’s company more and more, the tightness in his chest giving way to a thick warmth that swells and grows as he watches Keith help his mum make dinner, Keith chasing his dogs around the backyard, Keith allowing his nieces to braid his hair.  
He finds himself shedding his compulsive need to talk, act, laugh, don his mask and fill the space with constant, vibrating energy and sound. He allows himself to curl up and relax into the quiet, comfortable silence between them as they read on the porch, watch a movie on the couch, and walk along the beach.  
He’s more scared of a potential relationship than he’s ever been before but, thinking of Keith’s smile and the possibility of kissing that smile, he realizes that he wants it. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anyone.

And with that, he’s resting his stomach on the window ledge and leaning out into the summer breeze, shouting to startle Keith below.

 “Yo, loser! Let’s go to the beach!”

 

 ---

 

They had spent the remainder of the daylight at the beach.

Lance had brought along his boogie board and immediately ran down to the waves with his older siblings, tumbling in the surf and relishing in the power of the ocean beneath his board. Keith had spent the afternoon the same as every other time he’d been dragged to the beach, under the massive vibrant umbrella expertly multitasking, eyes flickering between the paperback in his hands and the younger children building sandcastles in the shade.  
It was only through Lance’s constant persistence that Keith had placed the novel down and allowed himself to be guided down to the water. He’d expressed his concerns over his lack of natural swimming ability and Lance had laughed and taken his hand, helping him into the gentler sections of the swell and showing him how to best move his arms and legs.  
He’d caught his eldest sister smirking knowingly at him as his hands had loosely held Keith’s waist, acting as an anchor and guiding him through the waves.

Keith had marched up the path ahead of him, salt drying in his tangled hair and a slightly pink tinge to his back, his happiness evident in the glimpse of smiles that Lance caught every time he turned his head to catch a passing sight of the ocean behind them.

They’re in Lance’s room upstairs now, tucked away from the usual noise of the house, after Lance insisted at dinner that they spend their last evening packing and relaxing with a film. He’d briefly seen his sister exchanging eye contact with one of his older brothers, a smug grin on their faces, which he promptly ignored in favour of dragging Keith upstairs and away from the younger relatives clamoring for their attention.

It had taken Keith all of ten minutes to pack, and Lance had shooed him away to pick a movie for the evening whilst he finalized gathering up his own belongings and lovingly arranging them in his suitcases.

“Is The Breakfast Club actually about breakfast?”

Lance looks up from his packing to see a perplexed Keith glaring at the top of a small pile of DVD’s in his hands.

“What the f- dude, no. Wha- you’ve never seen The Breakfast Club?”

Keith shakes his head.

“Seriously?”

Narrows his eyes, a slight shake again.

“Okay. Yep, we gotta fix this.”

Lance easily catches the DVD, leaning slightly to accommodate Keith’s shitty toss, feeling slightly proud as he watches Keith automatically begin to arrange pillows and blankets into some sort of lopsided imitation of the blanket forts that he and Pidge usually create for their movie nights. _He’s learnt well.  
_ By the time the menu screen has begun blaring the recognizable tones of the theme song Lance has accumulated a small pile of snacks and skincare in the centre of the bed, containers rolling slightly askew as their weight dips onto the mattress.

“You know, for all the bad eighties clothes you wear it’s a wonder that you haven’t seen this,” Lance snorts. He’s paused the film, only briefly, in order to apply a facemask on Keith. Keith just huffs good naturedly, unable to retort properly with the cool smear of purplish goo surrounding his lips.  
_He does look adorable though_. The scrunched nose accompanying the facemask is cute enough and coupled with the messy topknot on the crown of Keith’s head, he looks perfect.  
And with that thought, Lance finds himself leaning closer, applying the last of the facemask and hesitating to move away.

“Thank you,” Keith breathes. They’re so close.

“For what?”  
  
“This week, having me here. It’s been… it’s been good.”

Keith’s eyes are flitting between Lance’s own and his lips, the only source of light in the room coming from the paused screen barely giving Lance enough to make out his features, his breath coming in a quickened exhale.

“I want to kiss you.”

It’s blunt and whispered and before Lance can fully comprehend it they’re closer than they’ve ever been and they’re kissing.  
His arms find Keith’s waist and he’s pulling him into his lap and Keith’s arms are around his neck, thighs hooking around his hips and they’re pressing closer and they’re kissing and kissing and ki—

A loud thump sounds from downstairs, followed by muffled laughter and cheers.

The door remains closed but it’s enough for them to break apart.

 “Um,” Keith starts, but it’s quickly swallowed up by a rare burst of laughter.

Lance must look completely lost because then Keith is reaching for the remote on the bedside table to turn the overhead light on, dissolving into a fresh bought of laughter when light floods the room. Lance takes a moment to admire him like this, head thrown back, unabashed and happy, crooked teeth on full display.  
He can also finally see what’s so funny.  
There’s thick smears of his own facemask mingling with Keith’s own, the bright green and blueish purple swirling specifically around Keith’s mouth and across his nose. He doesn’t really want to know what his own face must look like. There’s a slight smudge on Keith’s lips and Lance reaches up to wipe it away gently with his thumb, Keith’s laughs dwindling down into a series of happy little hiccups of laughter.  
Lance hopes the grin on his face fully matches the feeling in his chest as they press their messy foreheads together, thick and warm and overwhelming.  
He can’t stop smiling as he helps Keith wash their masks off in the bathroom, collapsing onto the bed with open arms, to have Keith crawl into them.

They finish the movie, distracted only occasionally by the desire to kiss again, each time soft and lingering. The feeling of keeping their budding romance in the non-sexual realms must be mutual as Keith breaks away and smiles before returning his focus to the screen.

Lance feels like his happiness is overflowing, even as he feels Keith’s breathing even out into gentle sleep well before the movie’s natural end. He wraps his arm tighter around him, appreciating the sleepy hum it stirs from Keith, before shutting off the TV and allowing himself to fall into the familiar pull of sleep.

 

 ---

 

It’s been almost a month, and they’ve hardly spoken.

Keith’s never at home when Lance drops by the apartment hoping to catch him there, their text messages are long upward scrolls of unrequited blue messages marked Sent but not Read, and for the handful of times that Lance has tried to call him directly, there’s been predictably no answer. The rare times that he has managed to see Keith, he’s cold, distant and quick to disappear, walls rebuilt higher than ever. It’s almost exactly like it was when they first met, only worse.  
The past few weeks have been slow and torturous and Lance tries not to spend chunks of every day combing through his memories, trying to figure out what went wrong, why he’s been pushed away.  
It _hurts_ and it’s hard not to succumb to the threatening sadness. He made a promise to Keith though, to his mother, to himself that he wouldn’t allow himself to fall again. So he focuses on his coursework, pushing away his usual procrastination habits and spending most afternoons hunched at his desk, pretending he can’t see Hunk’s concerned glances.

He takes up walking again, sits with the sunrise and calls his sister for reassurances that he’s not hopeless, unwanted, unlovable.

It’s easier to put the mask back on, to pretend that he hadn’t shown someone his softest, saddest parts, to return to his daily routine a whirlwind force of chaotic fun and charisma.  
It feels like a different kind of destructive, downward spiral.  
Especially when he finds himself seeking out parties for the past fortnight, playing the suave charmer who’s so much easier than who he wants to be right now, downing drink after drink after drink and losing all sense of time in bright neon lights.

He’s woken up one morning, after one of these nights, to find that he’s not alone in bed. He’s not an idiot. He remembers now, with growing clarity and a pounding headache, that he’d brought her home. Remembers running his hands over her naked body and the tattoo decorating her ribs. It had been a conscious decision; one his tipsy self had deemed was the next necessary step in naturally moving on from Keith.  
And fuck, doesn’t that make the sharp pang in his chest return in full force.  
He doesn’t know why this feels bad, like he made the wrong decision, like he cheated. They weren’t in a relationship and they weren’t even dating. Technically, they’d only shared a handful of kisses. So, logically, this was perfectly fine.

He repeats this to himself mentally as he watches her wake up and helps her find her clothes, seeing her out the door with a shy little wave.

He repeats it as he turns back into his lounge room, to find Pidge occupying one of the couches, her face a mixture of concern and disappointment. He has a strong moment of confusion, before remembering the spare key to his apartment that she owns.

“What are you doing?”

Lance is taken aback by her sharp tone; it’s unexpected with those round, shocked eyes.

“How’d you- what do you mean, what am I doing?”

“Who the fuck was that?”

She’s mad. And not in her usual manner of sassy remarks and temper that fizzles out as quickly as it flares, he can see it in the controlled tremble of her shoulders and clenched fists.

“It was just a one night thing, Pidge, ya’know?” Lance aims for aloft and airy, it’s easier to hide the growing pain in his chest behind it.

The thing about Pidge is, she sees through all his bullshit. Has since day one, when Lance had approached her in the playground and bragged that he was a direct descendent of Superman and therefore, could fly. Pidge had promptly pushed him off the top of the playground equipment and one ambulance ride, a broken arm and a cast signing later, they were inseparable.  
  
“No, I don’t know. The fuck is with you lately? I thought you and Keith-“

“There’s nothing going on between me and Keith.”

Pidge stares at him, the anger is still in her shoulders but it’s relaxing into something akin to sadness. The concerned furrow is back in her brow.

“But… but you kissed. He told me that you kissed.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, obviously, it didn’t mean anything to him.”

Lance looks away to begin furiously observing the carpet to his left, studying the geometric patterns of their monochromatic rug. Pidge’s voice cuts desperately through his concentration.

“I need you to talk to him.”

And, just like that, his own bitterness that has been simmering overflows.

“Are you fucking serious? What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past month?! He doesn’t answer his phone, he’s conveniently not home whenever I’m there, he obviously doesn’t want me, Pidge. I’ve _tried_ , okay?”

His voice cracks on this final admission, chest heaving, and with that Pidge is striding across the room and wrapping her small frame around him, holding him as best she can with her short arms. Lance calms his breathing back down from the tipping point of uncontrollable sobs and just holds her, burying his face into her unruly curls. They stand in that embrace until Lance has calmed to the point of small sniffles, Pidge running a soothing hand up and down his back.  
With Pidge usually labeling any physical acts of affection as uncomfortable, it’s rare to experience this level of intimate contact with her. Lance can’t help but feel so overwhelmingly loved, when Pidge is willing to put aside her initial uneasiness in order to comfort him in a manner that she knows will help him best.

“I’m worried, Lance,” she murmurs from between them. “There’s something going on with him, but he won’t talk to me. He won’t even talk to Shiro. Rejects all his calls, just straight up leaves whenever he comes over.”

At this, Lance pulls away to look down at her sharply. Keith shares everything with his brother, they’re undeniably, stupidly close. To hear that Keith is giving Shiro the same treatment that he’s been receiving makes him immediately slip into a state of concerned stress.  
It also ignites the smallest spark of selfish hope. 

“Lance, please.” She has both of her hands on his jaw, warm palms pressing and comforting. “Please, I love you both and I want you both to be happy. I think you make each other happy. And I care about you so much, I need you to know that. You’re one of my best friends. And right now, you’re both hurting. And as much as I don’t want to ask this of you, I need you to try and talk to him. I think… I think it’ll be what you need too.”

Her tender gaze then falls back into the familiar glint of mischievousness and sass that he’s come to know, love and expect from her.

“Now, get off me,” she remarks. “You’re shirtless and you stink.”

It’s successful in making Lance laugh, as she shoos him toward the shower with the promise of breakfast and a lift to her apartment afterwards.

“Thanks, Pidgeon.”

 

 ---

 

Pidge must notice his incessant fiddling with the hem of his shirt in the car.

“I already told you, he’s home at the moment. When I left he was on the couch with a book and cup of tea… he’ll be there for awhile.”

It doesn’t help calm his nerves, not when she’s dropping her keys into his hands outside the front door, and not when she’s petting his shoulder and certainly not when she’s leaving back down the stairs.  
Lance takes a steadying breath before opening the door.

He can immediately spot the top of Keith’s head over the back of the couch, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. He’s looking down at something, the door to the balcony is open and the apartment smells fresh and light.  
The silence as he closes the front door must be unusual in the context of their home, as Keith looks up sharply, his gaze instantly tumbling into a mixture of shock and fear.

Lance slowly walks over, drinking in the sight of Keith.

His hair is greasier up close. It’s obvious that he hasn’t been washing it regularly, he’s in baggy pajamas and his face looks paler than usual, though thankfully he doesn’t look any slimmer. The slight eye bags that he’s genetically predisposed to have are now deeper and darker, inky smudges under his eyes.

Lance places himself down on the opposite end of the couch.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Keith has broken their brief eye contact to study his hands, picking at unraveling fibres in the seat of the couch.  
The simple act has his feelings of concern flickering away, overcome with the growing hurt and anger of the past few weeks.

“You really hurt me, you know.”

Keith just freezes in his ministrations, gaze concentrated on his fingers.

But Lance’s anger is growing because _yes,_ Keith has hurt him. He feels betrayed and sad and lost and he lashes out, if only to damage Keith as much as he can, to attempt to level it out.

“I slept with someone else. Last night.”

A pause, then-

“That’s okay,” Keith whispers, soft.

_What?_

“What?”

“I said, that it’s okay.” Keith is giving Lance his full attention now, his voice is wavering, but his gaze is glassy and firm. “And I’m sorry. I… I knew I was hurting you and I’m sorry.”

There’s tears slipping over Keith’s cheeks now and all of Lance’s residual anger and resentment is starting to slip too, in favour of moving closer, their knees brushing. He’s never seen Keith come close to anything resembling crying before.  
He hovers close, uncertain, torn between wrapping Keith up in comfort and respecting his space.

“Shiro’s moving to England,” Keith chokes out. He sounds bitter and hollow, like his world has come crashing down. “Allura proposed and- and I’m so happy for them but he’s leaving and he doesn’t know when he’s coming back and- and he’s the only family I’ve ever had and he’s going to _leave_ me like- like everyone always does and I _can’t—_ I can’t because you’ll leave me too and I didn’t know what else to do but not being with you still _hurts_ and I’m _sorry_.”

Lance moves on autopilot, wrapping Keith up as he collapses into heaving sobs. The anger has faded now, dissolved into a desire to comfort Keith, press gentle kisses to his head and whisper soft assurances.  
  
“Sh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Kit.”  
  
As the sobs racking his body calm down, Keith sits back and rubs his nose with the back of his forearms. His eyes are slightly puffy and his nose is tinged red, but he seems determined to continue.

“I- I’ve never wanted anyone- I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I feel myself f-falling for you, and I’m- I’m scared.”

They’re still close enough that Lance can steady Keith’s face between his palms, thumbs stroking away leftover tears.  
Keith looks directly at him, eyes wide and dark and teary.

“ _I’m so sorry_.”

Lance searches his face, takes Keith in before replying.

“I’m scared too. And… I’m still mad at you. You didn’t handle this well, but we can work on that. Because I want to forgive you. And I still want to be with you, I really do.”

Keith bites his lip, the corners of his mouth pulling into a hesitant smile.  
And _fuck,_ it’s not particularly fair for someone with a running nose and red, watery eyes and greasy hair to look as perfect as he does. But he does and Lance finds himself pulling Keith close again.  
Lance doesn’t allow the moment to stretch too far though, reaching over after a few moments to grab Keith’s phone, which is sitting on the far end of the coffee table. He presses it firmly into Keith’s hands.

“Call your brother.”

Keith stares at him, uncomprehending, eyes wide and confused.

“I want to help you, and be with you. But first, you need to call your brother. I know you haven’t been talking to him. Call him, have a shower, and then we can just… hang out. We can work this out.”

Keith has the audacity to look guilty, before wiping at his face with his hands again and inhaling deeply, albeit with a slightly snotty quality.

“Okay, yeah.”

Lance kisses him then. Takes his face back between his hands and brings him close. It’s warm, firm and lingering and instantly sparks something in his chest. Also, slightly wet from Keith’s residual tears. Lance laughs into Keith’s lips before pressing another kiss to the tip of his red nose. 

“Off you go, Rudolph. I’ll make us some tea.”

 

 ---

 

 

Their relationship isn’t perfect. Lance would’ve been a fool to think that it would be.

But they’ve taken their time, and come to learn each other completely. At both their best and worst, laid bare.

Lance knows Keith’s little nuances, knows when he needs stretches of time alone to reflect and regroup, can recognize when the surroundings are too much and when to take him away to a quieter space and stay with him until it’s okay. He knows how Keith likes his tea, which shower products he favours, he knows when Keith is approaching a temper tantrum, when he needs a sharp reprimand, when to send him on a run and when to hold him closer.  
He knows now, that Keith prefers cats to dogs, prefers rain and the outdoors, prefers their lovemaking to be soft and slow and teasing.

And, in turn, Lance feels as though Keith has stripped the layers away from him and looked straight at him, every raw place and damaged part, and smiled and accepted.  
He’s there when the darkness is threatening, sadness closing in and cloying, with open arms and a surprisingly, uncharacteristically deep well of patience, holding him close and soothing.  
When Lance chokes out that it’s bad, he’s pressing kisses to his face, running a bath and making Lance laugh when he uses mismatched products in an attempt to create bubbles. He brings Lance’s face close afterwards, when they’re wrapped up in bed, and whispers reassurances of how wonderful Lance is, how much he loves him.

There’s small moments in Lance’s life when he stops, watches Keith turning the page of a book, takes in Keith laughing with their closest friends, savours their lazy morning kisses, and has to think about how he got here. All the choices within the duration of their budding friendship, the many paths they could’ve taken. Keith is all hard lines and soft edges, a perpetual puzzle that he wants to spend the rest of his life prodding and turning and trying to solve.

And Lance is here, right now, his toes brushing Keith’s ankles under one of their patchwork quilts, body taking in Keith’s warmth as they nap on their couch in the afternoon sun.

And he’s never been more thankful.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> This was my very first fic, so any constructive or kind comments and feedback would be much appreciated.  
> I currently have a sequel about their sexual relationship planned out, so hopefully I am able to complete that within the next few weeks.
> 
> Thank you again!
> 
> Edit: I realised that I hadn't included a trigger warning for the small mention of self-harm and wanted to update the tags appropriately.


End file.
